


Amelia's Angel

by fanaticyouth



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Multi, Superwholock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-30 20:55:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3951445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanaticyouth/pseuds/fanaticyouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a cemetery in New York City; a cemetery which hides a dark secret in the form of a stone angel. It's going to take two hunters, two detectives, and a Time Lord to figure it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. -1-

L̲e̲b̲a̲n̲o̲n̲,̲ ̲K̲a̲n̲s̲a̲s̲

The smoke alarm fills the bunker for the fifth time today.

"Sammy?" a husky voice calls out, all worry drained from it. Dean knows his brother is fine. After all, he has managed to survive the first four fires.

"Still fine." Sam replies. After a few seconds, the obnoxious beeping ceases and he walks out of the kitchen. "I made you some mac and cheese."

"You set the smoke alarm off... making mac and cheese?" Dean looks up from his newspaper, unable to hide the growing grin on his face. "Of all things." 

"Shut up. You gonna eat it or not?" 

"Yeah. Here, have a blast." Dean stands up from his chair and makes his way to the kitchen, pushing the newspaper into Sam's chest as he walks past. 

He's almost finished eating the slightly burnt Kraft goodness when he hears the clicking of a keyboard. Sam must have decided that nothing in the local news was worth looking into, so he made his way to the computer. 

It takes another couple of minutes before Dean hears the familiar phrase.

"So get this..." As if they've rehearsed it a million times, Dean gets up from the table and goes to the computer by Sam, sitting down next to him and staring at the screen intently. 

"There's this graveyard in New York City. A couple of eyewitnesses reported seeing a group of people there the other day, just standing around, and then two of them vanished into thin air."

"What, like ghosts?" Dean asks.

"Not exactly. See, the caretaker at the graveyard has been complaining a lot lately about these statues. He says they look like crying angels. He's pretty freaked out about them, says he don't know how they got there. They just showed up one day. But the same day that those people vanished, all the statues vanished except one." 

"Sounds like something worth looking into. So, New York City then?" 

"New York City." Sam nods, shutting his laptop.


	2. -2-

L̲o̲n̲d̲o̲n̲,̲ ̲E̲n̲g̲l̲a̲n̲d̲

Sherlock sighs again. "Another one."

"Okay. Young woman sliced in half in Los Ange—" John groans, only to be cut off again by his genius flatmate.

"John, I'm a highly functioning sociopath. You don't think I've heard of the Black Dahlia?" 

I was hoping for it... John thinks as he searches the web for anything, ANYTHING to keep Sherlock from shooting the wall again. One particular news article stops him in his tracks. 

"Hmm." he mumbles a few times. Eventually, his silence intrigues Sherlock.

"You've found something interesting." he deduces immediately.

"Just browsing." Doctor Watson shakes his head quickly.

"You're a horrible liar John."

"You're annoying me." 

"Just tell me." Sherlock whines. 

"This woman... an American author from New York City around 1969. She's been dead for years and yet someone claims she's just gone missing from some graveyard." 

"You can't rely on everyone to tell the truth, John."

"No, no, I mean there's camera footage of her and her husband from three days ago. Running around in New York City! They've been dead for nearly twenty years, Sherlock!" 

Even the detective couldn't deny that the case had sparked his interest. A dead woman and her husband, not quite dead? Faking your own death was hard enough (of course he'd know that), but feigning old age for so long... Something wasn't quite right.

"Shall we go then?" his army doctor asked him, a smile creeping onto his face. At last, he had finally stumped the great Sherlock Holmes.

"To New York City? Are you joking? Geoffrey wouldn't last five minutes without me." Sherlock tried to protest. It wasn't easy to admit defeat, although inside he was dying to learn the truth.

"Greg." 

"Whatever." Sherlock groaned as he rushed into his room, packing his bags with so much science equipment, he would need at least three more suitcases. This mystery would not go unsolved.


	3. -3-

N̲e̲w̲ ̲Y̲o̲r̲k̲ ̲C̲i̲t̲y̲,̲ ̲N̲e̲w̲ ̲Y̲o̲r̲k̲ ̲

The taxi screeches to a stop and the tall man in the trenchcoat steps out.

"I already hate it here." he mumbles. His companion exits through the other door and rolls his eyes.

"You hate it everywhere, Sherlock. Suck it up and go solve a mystery or something." 

"Grant probably needs me back at home anyways. We should go back."

"Greg's fine. You know, I've never seen you so eager to leave a case abandoned. You're not scared, are you?"

Sherlock's laughing so hard he almost can't stand. "Please, John. What would I be scared of? Your silly little crying angels?"

John shrugs. "You read the legend. They sound scary."

"They're not even real! It's a legend, John. Honestly, I thought you'd understand that." 

But John Watson isn't listening. His eyes have focused on a black 1979 Chevy Impala parked just a few blocks ahead. The two men who obviously own it are sitting on the hood, flipping through a local newspaper. The taller one with the long hair is pointing out something to his friend, and the other is nodding. 

"I'll ask them where the cemetery is. Wait here." John puts up a hand to silence Sherlock, who is still laughing. Sherlock stops laughing immediately and trails behind his army doctor.

As they approach the Impala, they can begin to hear the conversation.

"--old newspaper, the first article she'd written. Amelia Williams, 1934."

Amelia Williams. John turns to Sherlock with raised eyebrows, and Sherlock gestures for him to confront the two men.

"Are you two investigating the Amelia Williams case?" John asks the men suddenly. Both look up, startled. The taller one folds up the newspaper quickly and slides it behind him. 

"Uh, yeah. Not really much to investigate though. Probably just a relative of hers, you know. People can get confused sometimes." he stutters, then composes himself. "I'm Detective Harvey, and this is my partner Detective Kaukonen." He jabs his thumb towards his associate, who extends his hand for John to shake.

Before John can accept the kind gesture, Sherlock interjects.

"You're lying."

The two men look at each other quickly. "And, uh, who are you?" the shorter one in the leather jacket asks.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes, and this is John Watson."

"Sherlock Holmes. Really?" the tall one cocks an eyebrow, and the other man pulls him to the side.

"After all the crap we've seen, dude, you really don't believe in Sherlock Holmes?" he whispers. The taller one thinks for a second, and then nods.

"My name is Sam Winchester. This is my brother, Dean. Yes, we're investigating Amelia Williams. Actually, we're on our way to the cemetery right now." Sam says. Dean nods and gets up off the hood of the car, heading towards the drivers seat.

"Sherlock?" John asks, turning to his friend. The man's eyes are fixed on a graveyard in the distance, on something a brilliant shade of blue resting by an older gravestone. 

"John, you said the witnesses saw a blue box, right?" 

"Yes, why?" John's getting annoyed at Sherlock's ignorance until he turns to the graveyard himself. His jaw drops slightly and he raises one hand, pointing for the Winchesters to see. 

The door to the blue box opens, and a man steps out, stumbling over to the grave, an obvious mess of tears. He rests near the grave, holding something yellow in his hands. 

"We should go." says John, and the three men get into the Impala, speeding away towards the crying man in the beautiful blue box.

***

They park the car a short distance away from the grave, and they're attempting to be as quiet as they can before the crying man hears them.

"Who are you?" he mumbles, custard dribbling out of his mouth. The fish fingers he's holding fall to the ground, next to a grave covered in sunflowers and a page torn out from an old Melody Malone book.

"We're here to help." Sam says, holding up his hands as if he's surrendering. The man in the bowtie gulps down the rest of his meal before nodding. 

"I'm the Doctor. You saw something, didn't you?" 

"Define something." John mumbles, and the bowtie man shoots him a look. 

"I'm Sam Winchester. This is my brother, Dean, and these guys are Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. We're here investigating the death/disappearance of Amelia Williams."

"Pond."

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock asks, not used to being wrong about something.

"Her name was Amelia Pond." the Doctor says sadly, looking towards the grave.


End file.
